Even in Life
by Anonymous0603
Summary: This is a story about Prince Harry, trying to do something awful or freeing, depends on how you chose to look at it and succeeding...


A/N: this is a story about Prince Harry, heir to the heir to the heir to the throne. Or, plainly, Prince Charles's son. This story was written last Summer, so, as some might know, Harry is in Sandhurst and doing well. The entire story is fictional.

_'Is it worth it?'_ I wondered as I sat on the window sill in my cheap motel room. For the past two months it seemed that my life was nothing but living Hell. It all began when I didn't pass my exams to get into Sandhurst. You'd think it wouldn't be so bad for me, being a Prince and all, but –Oh God- being labeled as the useless "waste of space" for your entire adult life is more than enough to bring someone to their knees.

As soon as the news got out phrases such as "The Spare Makes a Mockery of the Monarchy Again" and "A Royal Mistake Strikes Again" were thrown at me. Yet I've taken them all in good stride. I'm one of those people that if you pelt them with rotten fruit gets up, dusts off, and walks away, carrying the scars deep in my heart. Papa said it was, "not a big deal," Granny said, "you're a Prince; you can do whatever you want". It seemed that they have missed the point. My life is based around the circumstance of my birth. It is not shaped by the way that I articulate myself in the world or by the manner in which I act. I went to the poshest schools in England. Had friends in the high circles. I've even fucked women that threw themselves at my feet because they fancied me next to God; and the next day I walked off without a backward look. This was all nice and peachy because I am a Prince. How I longed to go out for once and not have someone say that "I love you Harry" or "Marry me Harry", I wanted to work for everything that I owned. But my destiny was based around my birth and I must be content with that.

The second devastating blow came three weeks after my failure. It was June Sixth. I was looking for a job and finally found it working as a coach for young children learning rugby. Things seemed to be going fine and the press was finally forgetting about my letdown. Then, on that day-and I remember it clearly; even the smell that was in the room when Papa called me in-everything came crushing down. Papa said that he didn't want me to hear it from anyone else, but James Hewitt just called the Buck Palace and said that if they didn't pay him one million pounds he was going to tell the press that I was his son. I asked if it was true-that I was James's son. He looked at me with a world of pain in his eyes and I knew what he was going to say before he said it. The world seemed to have been ripped from under me. Not only did I lose my mother but it seems that my father was taken from me as well. James Hewitt was the father of Henry Windsor – or was it Hewitt? Papa said that it didn't matter, that no matter what, I was still his son and that they would pay the guy off; he said that no one would ever have to know. But I didn't hear him. All that mattered was that everything I believed in was a lie. Granny wasn't my Grandmother, Zara wasn't my cousin, and even William-my best friend and the only person that understood me- was only my half brother.

After the conversation-if you can call it that because I didn't hear a word of it what father-Charles- said- I ran up to my room and cried the night away.

Alone. Shattered.

The following day William came to see me. I didn't let him in. How could I? I was the son of the man that exploited our mother for years.

Things have been like that for about a week. I took all my meals in my room; never leaving it. William came everyday in hope that I might let him see me but I still couldn't face him. I had a lot of thinking to do. I wasn't even a Prince. How cruel that the one thing that that I wished most in the world, was brought on by a sad man's confession, which ruined my life.

After that week of soul searching and long thinking I finally decided to leave the house forever and never see the Royal family ever again. I climbed down the widow from my room in Highgrove and then took a taxi to an out-of-town motel. I knew they were going to search for me, but I also knew their tactics so I took extra care to mask things they would certainly check.

I was wearing a heavy disguise. I had on a dark blue baseball cap and mirrored sunglasses. I was wearing baggy sweatshirt that said London on it and my jeans were one size too big. I was carrying with me a huge knapsack that we used to go hiking. Overall I looked like a normal teenager. The clerk there gave me the cheapest room he had-because that's what I requested- and left me to my own devices. Suddenly, I remembered that I haven't talked to Emma for a long time. Not since when I failed my exams. Emma was my girlfriend of four and half months, and I think that I was starting to fall in love with her.

I picked up the phone and dialed her home phone number. Her mom picked up and I asked if I could talk to Emma, not saying who I was. After about two minutes I heard Emma's voice say "Hello" into the receiver. I was so glad to hear her voice and I needed someone to talk to that the whole story can out. I told her how I wasn't my father's son. I said how I felt ashamed to talk to William and about how I ran away-though I didn't tell her where. She listened to me quietly and when I finished she broke my heart. I remember her exact words for each one of them was like a dagger being driven into my chest. She said, "So that means you're not a Prince," in a cool and calm voice, "I'm sorry Harry, we had a good fuck and it was fun being in the spot light, but now that you are a nobody it won't work for me anymore. Goodbye Harry."

After that conversation I sank into even deeper depression. I never came out of my room. I drank one bottle of vodka- that the clerk provided for me- after another. My depression kept getting worse and so did I. I stayed like this for two weeks.

So now, as I sit here in my room, thinking about the turn of my life and wondering "Is it really worth living for?" I have no real family, no friends that care for me and no love life. With that thought, I cut both my wrists and slowly lie down on the bed to die.

_Two days have passed since Harry's suicide. His body was found, after the clerk came to ask him if he needed more alcohol. One of the paramedics that were called recognized who he was and the royal family was alerted immediately. One week later was the public funeral of His Royal Highness, Prince Henry. _

_And, the entire nation went into mourning for the Prince of their hearts._


End file.
